


Gibbous

by Ariasune



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Shrimpshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariasune/pseuds/Ariasune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryuzaki likes to think that they have mellowed in their years, which is perhaps an arrogant thing to say at twenty, but is probably true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gibbous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fletcherstringham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fletcherstringham/gifts).



> Artwork credited to [God☆Bird](www.god-bird.com).

Ryuzaki likes to think that they have mellowed in their years, which is perhaps an arrogant thing to say at twenty, but is probably true. Their personalities, once caustic and catching, have stretched out, waned and turned convex with satisfaction. After that, things followed naturally enough; Haga's laugh is no longer pins in his ears, and Ryuzaki thinks more before taking a leap of faith. Not for all things, like lazily surveying Seiho from the top of the hill, breath weak from laughter. It's a habit, sitting there at their spot on the hill, legs swinging over the ravine, and leaning across the bottom rung of the guard rail. Ryuzaki looks more before he leaps, but not for things like turning affectionately towards Haga, and grinning - guileless - at him.

"We should move in together, y'think?" Ryuzaki asks easily, and then points out across the guard-rail, "Hey look, bird," It's a ryukyu robin, but Ryuzaki knows Haga wouldn't really be that interested in the observation. The pretty thing is only a flicker of red, and Ryuzaki twists to look back at Haga, "Hm, what's with the face, huh?"

"What face?" Haga snaps, rubbing at his face as he does so, "What sort of joke is that?"

"Wasn't kidding," Ryuzaki grumbles, crossing his arms on the guard-rail, leaning his head in them. He's lost track of the bird, and scans the woods below for another glint of colour. 

"Don't joke about that kind of thing," Haga folds his arms next to Ryuzaki, settling, "It's in really poor taste."

"I said," Ryuzaki stated louder, each word separated out in steely tones, "Wasn't kidding."

"Oh," Haga sits up straight, blinking at Ryuzaki as though Ryuzaki has crashed through every single floor, every ideal, every concept Haga's been building up, "Why?"

Ryuzaki hums, eyes flicking up in thought as he considers it, "Seemed t' be an alright idea, I guess," Haga is still looking at him in bewilderment, so Ryuzaki digs a little further into his reasoning, "We get along most o' the time," He counted the points off on his fingertips, "I'm not sure what t' do about my studies, so a new town'd be something new," Another finger raised in silent count, "I need to split rent with someone," Haga bristled, but Ryuzaki thought it was a fair point, "I'm probably the only person who'd deal with you - and you, me - in case you're upset about  _that_ ," Ryuzaki clicked his tongue, "I'm usually over at your place anyway," Ryuzaki switched to the other hand and continued counting, "I'm kinda' sure you need someone to split rent too-"

"You've made your point," Haga frowned, "Alright, but I get first pick of the rooms."

Ryuzaki settled back, smiling lazily out at the sunset-gleaming city, "Heh, figures."

* * *

Haga has too many boxes, and Ryuzaki has far too few, his worldly possessions fitting in a few dog-eared boxes, and a backpack. Haga doesn't hesitate to comment on it, "Is that it?" Haga is elbow-deep in yet another pile of books that he is trying to sort on their shelves. Their is an odd word, and tangs in Haga's throat, but is otherwise unremarkable. Ryuzaki is a fixture in his life, permanent and somewhere in-between unpacking, their is less an odd word and more a long time coming. 

"Um, that's it," Ryuzaki answers after a long moment, voice shy and hurt. 

Haga looks up from his books again, taking in Ryuzaki's withdrawn expression, and chews his lip, "I was just wondering."

"Yeah well that's it," Ryuzaki repeats, voice stronger but no less hurt than before, "I call dibs on the bath first."

"Whatever," Haga looks back down at his books, shuffling through their glossy pages with cautious fingertips.

* * *

"Here," Ryuzaki looks down at the object Haga has jutted into his face, "Yours," Haga clarifies, "Homewarming gift."

"You know we moved in like three days ago, yeah?" Ryuzaki studies Haga's expression, and Haga gives an unamused snort.

"I said it's for you," Haga all but drops it into Ryuzaki's chest, before stalking past Ryuzaki into their kitchen. The space is cramped, but pleasant, and laid out just the way Haga wants it. Everything he needs in reaching distance, and practical. He pulls their fridge open to grab one of his soda cans and kicks it shut with a foot. Cracking the can open, Haga slugs it down, leaning against their sink. The drink is cool in his mouth, and when he finishes it, he walks back out into their main room, where Ryuzaki is laid out on the couch. His feet are up on the furniture, which Haga loathes, but Ryuzaki is slowly reading the book Haga gave him, his face expressionless from concentration.

Haga settles with swatting at Ryuzaki's legs, until Ryuzaki makes space on the couch. Haga drops in next to him, and flicks the television on. He looks Ryuzaki up and down for a moment, whilst Ryuzaki continues reading _Birds of the Paleartic_ obliviously. Eventually, Haga turns his attention to the television and wanders boredly through the channels. They remain like that, until Ryuzaki stands, cracking the tension out of his neck.

"I'll get started on dinner," Ryuzaki places the book down on the arm of the couch carefully, exaggerated care, and Haga hums in acknowledgment, still focused on the television.

* * *

This becomes habit, in the same way saying theirs did. Haga buys Ryuzaki sleek books, filled with elegant photographs and detailed facts, and Ryuzaki sits there on the couch, stretched out and feet up. Haga comes, swipes gently at his legs, and Ryuzaki lifts them away to let Haga sit down. They sit together, Haga flickering through the channels, and Ryuzaki reading, until Ryuzaki gets up to make dinner. 

There is no rhythm to it, no sign of the wane or flow of change, but their routine does change; Ryuzaki raising his eyes over the top of his book to look at Haga, who is still waiting for him to move his legs. Yes, they have softened and leaned into their characters over the years, becoming less antagonistic with each other, but the burn of a challenge is still in Ryuzaki's eyes.

Haga throws himself at Ryuzaki, pulling at his legs and trying to dislodge him from the couch. Ryuzaki gives as good as he gets, the book dropping to the floor in favour of flailing limbs. They finish up, both more or less on the couch, but cluttered into a panting heap. Ryuzaki grinning at Haga like he's just won a prize and Haga simply rolls his eyes, "You're such a brat, Ryu," He states, shifting in his spot until they're in a more coherent position, practically curled against each other. Ryuzaki swipes his abandoned book off the floor, adjusts Haga's position (a wince, a hiss; _Stop poking my ribs, will ya')_ and resumes his reading.

* * *

"We're dating, 'parently," Ryuzaki announces over dinner with a little too much forethought, he waves a chopstick in Haga's direction, as though he is accusing Haga of being at fault.

"Oh, were we?" Haga picks at his food disinterestedly, "You really should have told me."

"I'm serious," Ryuzaki insists, "We're dating or something."

"I'm serious too, Ryu," Haga sighs, looking up long enough to pick up his glass and sip at it, "I don't think you can date another person without at least talking about it first," Ryuzaki has a dubious expression, and Haga follows it up with another thought, "And kissing. That's usually included too."

"You know exactly what I mean," Ryuzaki returns his attention to his dinner.

"I maintain," Haga stated delicately, "That we'd need to talk about it at least once, before we're dating," Haga snorted, "Apparently."

They both continue to eat in quiet, not interrupting the other. They live like that a lot of the time, circling each other in some orbit; not disturbing the other's path, but nevertheless tied together. They live together after-all. This is their sink and their table and their dinner and their shelves and their couch and their home. 

"Did you wanna' talk about it?" Ryuzaki asks, at last, but not eventually. He asks it, voice collected but curious enough.

"Hm," Haga takes another calculated bite of food, and swallows before replying, "I think we just did," He decides.

This conversation does nothing to clear the air, but then it was clear before, and now it is heavy. A little annoying, Haga decides, but for the life of him, he can't seem to figure out the rest of the conversation, and that is the crux of it. The conversation is not finished. It is left open, palpably so. They're not jumpy around each other, but there is some static- a raised eyebrow from across the couch- a smirk over Haga's soda can- a few looks held a bit too long. Haga has - however - not taken one step forward in his life without rolling through his options, up to his elbows in overthinking.

Except, of course, when Ryuzaki gave him a sunny smile, out-glared a sunset and suggested they move in together. Their personalities have evened out, filled crevices in themselves; made them largely whole. Yes, this is true, but Ryuzaki still leaps before looking, and initiates changes and conversations with the confidence of a bird on the wing; so so sure that the sky will catch him. 

Haga is, and will always been an over-thinker, and a strategist. So it is with his options weighed and weighted, that Haga leans into Ryuzaki in the cramped space of their kitchen, and kisses him. There is a precision in it that seems to dull Ryuzaki somehow, and Haga is not surprised. This is how he has beaten Ryuzaki before - deck to deck, and cunning thought to cunning draw. Ryuzaki is beaten into silence with the silent continuation of the conversation.

Somehow it satisfies an a question, and the routine changes again.

* * *

They kiss sparingly at first; grand gestures and affirmations. Quick to end, slow to start - affection digging its heels in. This changes soon enough, and there are kisses goodbye and kisses hello and kisses that dig in deep and swirl Haga's insides around. Dizzyingly lazy kisses sprawled out on the couch, and lightning feral kisses in the kitchen. Their bookshelves flesh out, and they become compliant with each other. There is a fit in them, that has grown out into a comfortable one over the years, and perhaps Ryuzaki tries to fly less and Haga does not think so carefully. Perhaps they've grown and gentled themselves into vaguer shapes as they've grown, less strong personality archetypes, but they have grown into one another, and the whole thing is just a long time coming.


End file.
